


Finding Home

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter, Bottom Peter, Cum Inflation, Dead Hale Parents, Gangbang, Hale fire, Knotting, M/M, Porn with some plot, Under-negotiated Kink, based on a gif, belly bulge, brief homophobic language, negotiated scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15920802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Inside the office, four men sit around an upturned box, cards and pennies littering the top.One of the men, trucker cap, beard, laughing eyes, lays down a royal flush. “I guess that’s game,” he drawls, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Peter.“Ah,” the oldest man, white hair, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, adds, “the entertainment. Boys, let’s dance.”





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this gifset](http://jcjoeyfreak.tumblr.com/post/177308221367).

* * *

It’s been months, Peter thinks ruefully, since he last was on his own.

He glances down at where his nieces and nephew are curled together on the pullout bed. Cora has a thumb in her mouth, and Laura is flat on her back, snoring loudly. Derek, though, is watching Peter with inquisitive eyes.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asks, rubbing at his cheek.

Peter shrugs. “I’m not leaving you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The fire was a year ago, and they’re still on the run. Every time Peter thinks he’s found somewhere safe, someone from their past shows up, usually an Argent.

“Go back to sleep,” Peter says softly, crossing to the bed and running his hand down Derek’s side. The boy is ticklish, and he jerks under Peter’s touch.

“Are we safe here?” Derek asks, as he always does when Peter catches him awake. Peter nods. He understands Derek’s paranoia, hell he has it himself, but the boy actually witnessed the hunters setting the fire.

He’d managed to rouse Peter and Laura, and Laura had grabbed Cora and Derek, running for town to get help since the phone line had been cut. Peter had found the rest of the family in the basement, wolfsbane bombs and mountain ash everywhere.

His sister had been in the center of it all, arrows and bullets peppering her body. She’d been alive, barely, and had asked him to watch out for the survivors. Peter hadn’t understood until she’d pressed a blood-soaked hand to his forehead, the alpha power transferring.

He stumbled back, and one of the human relatives, their sister-in-law, had flopped onto the ash barrier, allowing Peter, the only one still remotely aware, to walk over her body and out of the fire.

Peter swore revenge that night, but revenge was hard to seek with fourteen-, ten-, and six-year-old children to care for.

Peter hadn’t even been able to fuck off some of his tension.

“I need something,” Peter tells Derek. “And I might have to leave you to get it, but I won’t be gone long, and I’ll definitely come back.”

“What if you don’t?” Derek insists.

“Just howl for me,” Peter says, “and I’ll always come.” He leans in to press a kiss to Derek’s forehead. “I promise.”

Derek nods, turning over and burying his face against Laura’s side. She shifts, a hand dropping into his hair.

Peter kisses all of them. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispers.

Outside of their door, his neighbor, another shifter, smiles at him. “Are you sure I can’t help you?” she asks.

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t want to be rude,” he says, “but you’re not exactly what I’m looking for.”

She smiles. “I understand. I have a brother, if you’d be interested in that?”

Peter considers it and shakes his head. They’ve been in this town for a month. They’ll be moving soon. The less attachments, the easier. He’s sure she’d understand. After all, she’s running from her own demons.

“I’ll be back in three hours,” he says, waving as she enters his apartment. He waits until he hears the lock snick into place before he heads down the steps and across the way to the mechanic shop where his car still sits, waiting for payment.

The interior stinks of all sorts of leaked fluids, the most prevalent is gasoline. Peter wrinkles his nose in distaste and heads for the office. Once he crosses the threshold, the stench of the shop fades away.

Inside the office, four men sit around an upturned box, cards and pennies littering the top.

One of the men, trucker cap, beard, laughing eyes, lays down a royal flush. “I guess that’s game,” he drawls, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Peter.

“Ah,” the oldest man, white hair, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, adds, “the entertainment. Boys, let’s dance.”

The box is cleared away, the coins and cards swept into the third man’s cowboy hat. A long, low bench is brought forward, and Peter almost sighs at how perfect it looks.

“Easy or hard?” he asks. Sometimes the men he joins like to pretend they’re taking something he isn’t giving willingly. And sometimes, they look at Peter like he’s their world and worth taking apart nice and slow.

Trucker-hat, Damon, if Peter remembers his nametag right, puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him toward the bench. “What are you in the mood for, sweet thing?” he asks, fingers coming up to stroke Peter’s growing beard.

Peter wants both—sweet and slow and hard and fast. He looks at the gathered men. The cowboy hat smelling of snuff looks like he’d be rough. The thin kid, barely older than Peter himself, looks like he could go either way until Peter catches his scent. There is nothing but unbridled hatred coursing through his veins. He’ll be unnecessarily rough.

Peter tries to keep from licking his lips. He’ll be last.

“Slow and sweet first, please?” he says, climbing onto the bench.

He slides his hands under his tank top, lifting it off in one fluid motion. Someone takes it from his lax fingers as Damon settles over Peter’s lap, already leaning in for a kiss.

“Aw shit, no,” the kid complains. “None of that fag stuff. C’mon.”

“Hey,” the old man says sharply. “Clean up your language. We’re using this gentleman, and he’s graciously allowed us to. If you can’t watch your tongue, you don’t get your dick wet. Clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the kid mumbles.

Peter minds the homophobic act because it means that’s why the kid will be rough. He’d rather the kid be angry with his parents or something.

Damon must see it on his face, because he points at the door. “Out, Clancy. If you can’t play nice, you don’t get to play at all.”

The kid, Clancy, looks thunderous, but he leaves without protest. Damon turns back to Peter. “Where were we?”

Peter reaches up and resumes the kissing.

Things progress quickly, and Peter finds himself stripped bare, chest pressed against the bench, knees on a padded mat the old man, Andrew as he introduced himself, shoved under him when he recoiled at the concrete floor.

Behind him, Damon works one and then two lube-slick fingers into him, barely giving him enough time to adjust. Peter doesn’t mind. While it is hard to prepare one’s self for the fuck of a lifetime with three curious, werewolf children, it is not impossible, and Damon grunts appreciatively when he realizes just how loose Peter still is.

He leans over, pressing a kiss to just behind Peter’s ear. “Bet I could make you come, just from this.” He crooks his fingers, searching until he finds Peter’s prostrate. He taps it steadily, gently, and Peter rocks into it.

It’s been too long. So damn long. He keens when the fingers pull out.

“Relax, sweetheart, just getting my dick ready.”

Peter cranes his neck back, panting already from the little they’ve done. “Hurry up,” he orders, “I can feel it closing.”

“Oh yeah?” Damon slips the head of his cock in, and Peter gasps. It’s so much better than fingers, which is all Peter has anymore. He widens his knees, slipping down onto the bench more thoroughly. Damon follows him down, more of his cock sliding in.

Peter braces his arms, raises his hips a little and then drops them. Damon lets him do this for three thrusts, and then he puts a hand in the middle of his back and shoves. Peter sprawls, and Damon blankets him, hips jerking back and forth as he works his whole cock in and out in increments.

Peter sighs, melting into the leather of the bench. He can hear Andrew and Cowboy moving around, wonders if they’re filming. It wasn’t in the contract, but the contract is a dirty napkin from the diner around the corner. Peter honestly wouldn’t care if he didn’t think the Argents were still looking for them.

Damon speeds up slowly, keeping Peter flush against the bench, unable to get a hand under himself to jerk off.

Peter could use a little of his strength and move, but he doesn’t want to. He just wants to lie here and feel. He just wants to be used like a cum dump.

Damon thrusts a little harder now, chasing his own orgasm, and Peter contracts and relaxes his hole alternatively until the man cries out, going deep one last time and spilling his release inside.

Before he’s even properly off, the next man, cowboy hat, slides in, his dick thinner and longer than Damon’s. He’s also rougher, like Peter thought. Two minutes in, he freezes, sighs, and shoots his load. Peter tries not to feel cheated.

“My turn,” Andrew says. He doesn’t even undress, just pulls out his cock, longer and thicker than the others. He slides in with no lube, but Peter’s plenty wet still.

He moves Peter until one leg is braced on the bench, the other still on the floor, hitching Peter up until he can get a hand between them. Instead of going for Peter’s cock, he pinches and rolls Peter’s balls, tugging harshly at them while he thrusts gently in Peter’s hole.

“I think we’ll try to get you to come just from stimulation alone,” Andrew says, “but first, I’m going to fuck you until you come.”

Peter wants to laugh. He hasn’t ever come without a hand on his cock. He shifts under Andrew, and his cock slips in too hard, too fast, stabbing deeper than Peter is stretched.

His vision whites out, and he shoots over Andrew’s hand.

When he comes back, he’s hunched forward, Andrew on his back, hips pistoning faster than a human can. Peter glances back to find heavily lidded red eyes watching him.

“That’s it, boy,” Andrew says, thrusting as viciously as Cowboy had. “Feel it coming?”

Peter worries what he’s got himself into for a few seconds, but then he thinks, if they’d wanted to kill him, they wouldn’t have fucked him first, and Andrew wouldn’t have revealed what he might be.

The hard ball of flesh banging against Peter’s hole gives him away, and Peter throws his head back, howling as he’s knotted.

Andrew shifts into an alpha form, his cock growing longer and thicker, his knot swelling until it presses against everything inside and Peter blacks out briefly.

When he comes to, he’s been flipped, Andrew under him, his cock distending Peter’s stomach.

“Do you know how much a werewolf comes when they’ve knotted?”

Peter shakes his head. He’s never knotted anything. He can feel that changing though, a tennis-ball sized lump swelling on his cock. Andrew thrusts hard, as if to remind Peter that he’s stronger despite being an old man. “A gallon,” Andrew says, and roars as his cock starts shooting.

Despite the knot in his ass, Peter’s insides are quickly over-flooded, and it drips out of him, spilling down over Andrew as he shoots more and more. Soon, Peter’s stomach is bulging from more than an alpha’s cock, and he places a hand on it, pressing against the heat inside and wondering what it means that he doesn’t ever want that too-full feeling to stop.

Eventually, though, Andrew is spent, and he turns them again, Peter on his side, Andrew and his knot still in his ass.

A clawed hand curls around the swell of his stomach, skirting down lower to wrap around his knot. A few quick squeezes, and Peter cries out as he ejaculates again, his own release splashing over the floor.

His hole tightens on Andrew’s cock, and Andrew sighs. “If I could fuck you again right now, I would. I hope you know that.”

Peter nods. He’s drowsy, filthy, and sated. “Time is it?” he slurs when Damon rouses him enough to pour some water down his throat.

“About half past ten.”

Peter sighs. He’s still got an hour left before he has to get back to the apartment. “You got a shower here?” he asks. He’d rather not go home to his pack smelling like he does right now.

“Yeah,” Damon says. “And we got some scent-canceling soap. You’re welcome to it.” He pats Peter’s stomach, and Peter knows they’ll all mourn the bulge when his ass drains.

“I’ve got to check on some things,” Peter says, “but I’m sure we can meet up again. I mean, how big was my repair bill?”

Damon grins at him, kisses his lips. “Big enough,” he says. “Rest easy. Andrew ought to be deflated enough in about twenty more minutes.”

Before he pulls back, Peter grabs his wrist. “Thank you,” he rasps, less to do with needing more fluids and more to do with the fact that it’s been too damn long since he’s felt this complete. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Damon says. “It’s been our pleasure.”

Peter drifts off, the weight of Andrew comforting. He wishes they could stay here forever. He wishes that the hunters, the Argents especially, would just stop. They hadn’t done anything to warrant the slaughter. They haven’t done anything to justify the hunt.

All Peter wants is for his nieces and nephew to grow up without more strife, for Andrew to fuck him again, and maybe, just maybe, to finally be home again.

~ End ~

**Author's Note:**

> The most porny thing I've ever written.
> 
> Comment if you want. I'd like to hear feedback on this one.
> 
> Not Beta read.


End file.
